Beneath The Willow
by luluvee
Summary: Time doesn't always heal all wounds and not every love story has a happily ever after. This is one of those stories. Shortfic based off of the song "Whiskey Lullaby". Rated M for mature themes but no lemons.
1. Prologue

**AN:** Just a little something to help me get my groove back. Based on Brad Paisley & Allison Krauss' "Whiskey Lullaby".

* * *

**Beneath The Willow**

**Prologue**

* * *

A chorus of quiet weeping accompanied the guitar and dobro in the midst of the blazing August heat. The men stood stoic, pillars of strength for their women, as the late afternoon sun baked the earth, save for the plot of freshly upturned dirt that sat at the base of a large weeping willow. As Pastor Weber ducked through the overhanging branches, the cries grew louder, one in particular seeming to echo across the empty field. At the subtle nod of his head the musicians slowed their rhythmic playing to a stop and removed their hats in respect as the service began.

"Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to praise God and to witness to our faith as we celebrate the life of Jasper William Hale."


	2. Clinging To His Picture For Dear Life

**Beneath The Willow**

**Chapter One:**

**Clinging To His Picture For Dear Life**

* * *

"It's called 'functioning alcoholism,' ma'am," Dr. Hughes said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "Basically, she can still function like a normal member of society – do her job, go to church, cook dinner – but she feels that she is dependant on alcohol to fuel her through her day. Really, the only thing to do at this point is to get her formal medical treatment."

A gasp sounded from the woman sitting across the desk. One hand landed lightly against her pinked lips, the other grasped at the man in the plush arm chair next to her.

"B-but-!"

"Now, Caroline, calm yourself," the gentleman said offhandedly, leaning forward with his elbows braced against his knees. He looked over at his wife before peering over the top rim of his spectacles at the doctor. "How would we begin the process of getting Mary Alice into treatment, then, doctor?"

"Well, if she's willing—"

"Wilbur, no!" Caroline Maynard-Brandon exclaimed, her white gloved fingers pressing into his bicep. "We can't have her shipped off to a place like, like… Like Dearbourne! We just couldn't!"

"Caroline, Mary Alice needs help." Wilbur Silas Brandon's tone was heavy, tired. An image of his eldest daughter flashed in his mind – it was an image long forgotten until that moment, of a healthy young girl, all smiles and laughter as she ran carefree amongst the tall grasses that lined a creek. That image alone fuelled his resolve. "Doctor?"

* * *

"Mary Alice?"

Alice looked up from her sketchpad and blinked blearily against the bright light that shone from the doorway. The vague shape of her father loomed in the portal and she kicked at the mostly empty bottle of Maker's Mark until it was hopefully hidden beneath the piles of debris that surrounded her.

"Yeah, daddy?"

"Can I come in?"

She hesitated. Hardly ever did her father pay any attention to her as of late. She wondered at his intentions but nodded stiffly anyway. She watched him pick his way through piles of clothes and mountains of balled up papers, bolts of fabric and endless strings of ribbons and lace. He stumbled once or twice and Alice winced when she heard the unmistakable _clink!_ of glass against glass more than once on his trek across the room.

Finally, he stopped close to her and turned in a circle, looking for a safe place to sit. Kicking a short leg out, she shoved a pile of notebooks and sketchpads off of her antique ottoman and gestured to it.

"Uhm, thank you, darling," her father intoned before sitting down gingerly on the cushion. "How are you, darling?"

She peered up at her father, her head cocked to one side. She remembered a time when this man used to be the center of her world. He had been the epitome of strength and virtue, the only man in her life she believed was wholly infallible. But that was a long time ago.

"I'm okay," she answered, still unsure of his intentions. "You?"

He hesitated before answering. "Quite frankly, darling, I'm not all that well, actually."

Alice was surprised by her father's answer. Never had she known him to admit a weakness.

"Worried, actually," he continued, leaning in close. "About you."

Alice was stunned speechless.

"It's just that you spend so much time in this room, in the dark and all by yourself, all the time. It just can't be good for a person."

She almost snorted with laughter at his words. Not because of how he said them or how she perceived them, but at a long ago memory that his words had dredged up.

"It just can't be good for a person," Jasper intoned deeply in a horrible imitation of her father. "Honestly, Mary Alice!"

_ Alice fell into Bella, laughing until she was wheezing._

_ "Jesus, Allie, if you had a dollar for every time he said that," Bella laughed, "you'd have enough money to get out of here in no time!"_

_ "Oh, you don't even know the half of it," she replied as she watched Jasper jump down from the window seat he had been grand standing on._

_ "Hey, now, Jack!" she listened to him yell across the room. "Pass that whiskey down o'er here!"_

_ Her cousin Edward laughed but lifted himself off the couch to lope to their side of the room._

_ "Will you stop calling me Jack?" he complained before plopping down on the couch occupied by Bella and Alice. He draped a long legs across the two girls and braced the other against the floor as they squealed and tried to push him off. "My name is Edward. Ed-ward. Not Ed, not Eddie, and certainly _not_ Jack."_

_ "It's just an expression," Jasper replied, taking a swig of Wild Turkey. "Every man is Jack and every lady is sugar. Until, of course—"_

_ "Don't even think of finishing that sentence, Jasper Hale!" Alice giggled. "You won't if you know what's good for you!"_

_ "Aw, sugar, don't be like that!" he intoned, the bottle of whiskey still at his lips. "It just can't be good for a person!"_

The memory hit her hard making her cringe into herself and she reached for the tea cup that sat on the window ledge.

"Why don't you come down to the parlor," her father said quietly as he regarded his daughter. He knew that that wasn't stale tea in his daughter's cup. "We'll get you some fresh tea and then you can come eat a proper meal with us."

"Oh, Daddy," she said, trying to dredge up her dutiful daughter voice. "I'm still feeling a little touched. I think I'll just stay up here."

The two stared at each other before Wilbur sighed and stood.

"All right, then, darling. I'll have Doreen bring you up something, then."

* * *

Sitting on the roof early the next morning with a fresh bottle of Maker's Mark, Alice watched as the household came to life around her. The maids and groundskeepers were already busy at work and she could already hear her sister singing to herself as she stretched before her morning run. Looking towards the road, she could see the occasional car pass by and, if she squinted carefully, she could see the large weeping willow standing forlorn and solitary in the distance.

"You're not missing too much, darling," she whispered, sipping from the fifth in her hand, picturing the lone grave that sat beneath that particular willow.

_"Don't! Don't do this to me, Alice!"_

_ His cries echoed in the empty room as he paced along the wall. Alice sat, her back straight, staring anywhere but the crazed man that she loved._

"I'm not doing anything, Jasper," she said calmly, reaching over to the side table next to her and daintily picking up the pink rose patterned teacup. "It's done, it happened, there's nothing we can do now."

_ He stopped his manic pacing in front of her and dropped to his knees. "What do you mean, there's nothing we can do now?"_

_ "I mean I miscarried. It's not like we're planning on having another… _one_. And now you can go to West Point."_

_ "Seriously, Alice? That's it?!"_

_ "Jasper…"_

_ "Alice, sugar, _I love you_. And now matter what, I loved that baby we had made. And I will love every single baby that we will make in the future. But I can't understand why you're acting like this!"_

_ She couldn't understand it, either, but she just took a sip of her tea-and-whiskey instead of answering._

_ The guilt gnawed at her stomach as Jasper proclaimed his love for her over and over. She hated lying to him but there was no way she was going to be the reason he wasn't going to go to West Point in the fall. Only she and the doctor that had performed the procedure the day before knew the truth about the 'miscarriage'. _

_ "Alice," he breathed, laying his head on her knees and hugging her legs to him. "I love you. Tell me you love me, too, and tell me we'll get through this."_

_ "Jasper…"_

_His shocked face looked up at her._

That single moment was when she knew she had broken his heart.

* * *

"You know, she really never was the same after the Jasper boy."

"Never the same? She just wasn't right in the head any more!" someone else exclaimed in a whisper.

Sitting at the top of the stairs, Alice listened to her mother's society ladies as they gossiped about her. Her mother had ducked into the kitchen with Cynthia and no doubt the ladies had jumped at the opportunity to pick over their lives.

"Well, it was right indecent what she did to the poor boy," another piped up. "Making him absolutely crazy for her then dropping him at the tip of a hat."

Her fingers gripped a baluster until her knuckles went white and Alice was sure she could taste blood in her mouth; she had probably bitten her tongue or the inside of her cheek.

"Rumor was that she had gotten pregnant."

Titters could be heard along with the clinking of china against saucers.

"By another boy, no doubt," a haughty voice interjected. If Alice wasn't mistaken, it was Jasper's Aunt Beatrice. "Our Jasper was such a noble boy, he would have done right by her and the family had it been his."

Yep, crusty Aunt Beatrice, all right.

"What a shame."

"Shame, indeed. That Mary Alice brought shame to this house!"

Before she could stop herself, Alice launched down the stairs loudly. Immediately the sound of small gasps and clinking china chorused and she smile, cruelly triumphant, as she stood in the doorway of the parlor.

"Good afternoon, ladies," she supplied in a saccharine tone. The collection of wide, surprised eyes followed her as she entered the formal room and peeked around, looking for a seat. "Do you mind if I join you?"

The gathered were quiet, save for the occasional sputtering of one or two of them. Satisfied with the reaction to her presence, Alice spied an empty bergere chair that just happened to be directly across from Aunt Beatrice. She took a seat and noticed the distain on the elderly woman's face as she sat down.

"Mary Alice, dear," of course, the biddy would be the first one to say something, _anything_, "perhaps you'd like to go back upstairs and put on something more appropriate for tea."

"Oh, thank you for the suggestion, Mrs. Devereux," Alice intoned sweetly, knowing full well that her current outfit consisted of ratty black jeans and an old holey, men's t-shirt, "but I do feel rather comfortable and I'd hate to miss out on the latest gossip."

To reinforce her point, Alice smooshed her butt into the cushioned antique chair beneath her.

"Oh! Mary Alice!"

Her mother's surprise seemed to deflate her victorious attitude somewhat, but she ploughed on with the charade. Her little sister Cynthia's face mirrored their mother's as she peeked over the matriarch's shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Mother, Cynthia."

"Lovely!" Caroline exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. She set down the tray she was carrying and clapped her hands once. "I'm _so_ glad you decided to join us, darling. I'll be right back, let me just go run and get you a setting."

As her mother fled, her sister approached and laid a comforting hand on Alice's shoulder. The quiet in the room became frosty and several of the ladies cleared their throats as they adjusted against the awkward aura in the room.

"So, Cynthia," a lady in a monstrosity of a floral, high-necked, sleeveless dress started, breaking the silence. "Your mother tells us you'll be going to Ole Miss."

Still perched on the arm of her sister's chair, Cynthia spoke up. "Yes. I'm very excited to be going."

"Scholarship?" crusty Aunt Beatrice asked, half her brow perched high upon her forehead.

"I was offered one," Cynthia supplied gracefully, "but I didn't take it. Mother and Daddy can afford to send me and the scholarship could certainly go to someone else more deserving."

Murmurs of approval sounded throughout the room but Beatrice Devereux was not impressed.

"Well, of course your parents could afford to send you, dear. They saved a fortune with not sending Mary Alice, did they not?"

* * *

Feeling tired and sluggish, Alice forced herself to lift the bottle of Maker's Mark to her lips, sourcing enough energy to swallow down what little spilled into her mouth.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed quietly into the darkness. A likeness of Jasper's face appeared in front of her and she reached for it, stroking its cheek and sobbing even harder.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated as she gasped for breath. "I'm so sorry. I love you."


	3. With A Note That Said

**Beneath The Willow**

**Chapter Two:**

**With A Note That Said, 'I'll Love Her 'Til I Die'**

* * *

"I jus' don' wan' it t' hurt no more," he slurred, slumping further into the cracked vinyl of the barstool. "I jus' wan' it to be yesterday 'gain. When things were still good. Still _right_."

Jasper fingered the plain lowball glass sitting in front of him and wondered why her even bothered with a glass in the first place.

"You weren't all that better off yesterday, Jasper," the bartender told him as he wiped down the patch of bar beside him.

"Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Jack?" Jasper answered, his body swinging wildly to face the barkeep.

Ignoring the question, Peter attempted to grab the mostly empty bottle of Wild Turkey. A hand, calloused and roughened, stopped him.

"Where you think you're goin' with that, boy?"

"Jasper." It was less a warning, more an exasperation.

"I ain't done with that I and done paid good money for it!" Jasper's weak grip on Peter's arm was a plea that betrayed the hard words that were spoken.

With a heavy sigh and an equally heavy conscience, the bartender tipped the bottle and watched as the last of the amber liquid sluiced down the sides of its glass prison and into the half-full lowball tumbler that sat on the bar.

* * *

"Come on, Jas."

Jasper looked up from his perch at the bar and saw Peter with his coat slung over his shoulder.

"'Sup, Pete?"

"Come on," the sandy blonde repeated. "Lemme take you home."

Part of Jasper wanted to argue but it was quickly silenced by something else he couldn't quite name. So, with a grunt, he hefted himself off of his stool – with a grace that surprised Peter as he watched – and slouched over to the doorway where the bartender was waiting.

"You know, I still love her."

Far from surprised at the abrupt change of subject, Peter played along as he slung his free hand behind the drunk man's back to brace him if he began to fall.

"Yeah, you've told me."

"She was _light_, you know?" Jasper's bloodshot blue eyes peered to his right, oblivious to Peter's labored breaths as the poor man tried to steer both of them to the Cadillac parked at the far corner of Twilight's parking lot.

"Light and everything good in this world," he continued. "So right and so light, like the angels in heaven picked her just for me."

The vision in front of his eyes changed from the dimly lit parking lotto his Alice, light pouring from behind her, making her whole image glow. Her smile was calm and serene and he reached out for it before everything disappeared.

* * *

Birds chirping and the sound of a saw were the unpleasant greetings Jasper woke up to the next morning. Trying to bury his face into his very rough and very scratchy pillow, he moaned. The sunlight streaming in from a window somewhere was making him sweat and the sensation of even air touching his body made him want to cringe in pain.

_Where am I?_ he thought, slowly putting his arm out to feel for his surroundings. When his palm encountered nothing but more uncomfortable pillow (which his brain was trying to tell him was carpet), he took shallow breaths and attempted to roll himself over.

It was a painful and long process.

After what felt like eons, he managed to open his eyes but what he saw made him close them again in agony.

He was in his apartment in Louisville.

He was not back at home in Mississippi.

The last four years were not a bad, bad dream.

Groaning, Jasper scuttled around his apartment on his hands and knees, searching through the mess that consisted of his living space. He shuffled through stacks of unopened mail, newspapers, and empty bottle until he came across an opened, half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Slouching against the wall, he hefted the bottle to his lips and took a long pull.

* * *

"JASPER!"

The pounding on his door hours – or it could have been days, he wasn't too sure – later woke him up again. He peered blearily out the bare window and saw nothing but dark sky from his vantage point on the floor and he wondered idly what day it was.

The pounding and yelling continued but he made no active move towards the door. Instead he stumbled to his feet and lurched over to the small galley kitchen.

"I can hear you in there, asshole!" the person outside his door yelled. "Open the door, you shit!"

Wading through the debris of empty take out cartons and paper bags and empty bottles, Jasper rooted around until he found a fresh bottle of Jack.

"Well, hello, Jack," he snickered aloud to himself, peeling away the tamper-proof plastic around the lid.

As he opened the bottle and took a sip, he listened as his unknown visitor and one of his neighbors from down the hall began to scrap, the sounds of a scuffle made obvious by the thudding against the walls.

* * *

"Another day, another dollar," he laughed, pointing at the black television screen with the neck of his whiskey bottle.

"What are you talking about, you idiot?"

Looking up from the couch, Jasper stared, baffled, at the blonde standing in his doorway. She looked familiar.

"I'm surprised you're alive," she continued, still standing in the doorway and surveying his living space with a look of comical (at least to Jasper) disgust. "Although, by the smell, no one would believe it."

Jasper watched with detached interest as she finally entered his apartment, though he did keep a curious eye on her as he nursed the whiskey. "Who exactly are you?"

The blonde stranger stopped and fixed him with a glare. In his head he couldn't help but compare this Amazon with _his Alice_. Where this woman was tall, surely almost his height, with long, blonde hair so pale it was almost white, _his Alice_ was petite – barely crossing five feet tall – with short, smartly styled black hair.

_Alice_.

The thought of her brought the ripping pain back to the center of his chest and he cringed for a moment, feeling the pain so acutely, as he had been delivered a physical blow. Determined to fight the ache, he raised the whiskey bottle to his lips and drank until the pain finally began to ebb.

"… you stupid, selfish prick. God, when the fuck was the last time you showered?"

He looked up, lips still glued to the bottle, and saw the blonde stranger towering over him with her hands on her hips.

"I'm sorry, sugar," he slurred around the glass. "Who exactly are you?"

* * *

There were people in his living room talking, but he couldn't make out any words. Not that he cared to. Instead, he rolled over on to his stomach and reached to open the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Pulling out a bottle of Wild Turkey, he reclined in bed with it.

"You know, I'da been a daddy," he told the bottle after a sip. "A damned good one, too.

The bottle did not reply.

"I don't know why she didn't love me enough," he sighed after some time. At this point the bottle was half drained. "All I wanted was for her to love me."

Reaching out blindly, his hand grasped a piece of paper and, after some drunken fumbling, a pen.

"I'm writing her a letter," he explained to the bottle. "Ask her why she wouldn't love me. Tell her that I still do."

Reaching for his final companion, Jasper took a long pull before beginning to write.


	4. Epilogue

**Beneath The Willow**

**Epilogue**

* * *

There were no guitars, no mournful rhythm from a dobro this time around. Only the sound of the cicadas singing in the stillness to accompany the faint, muted sobs.

Pastor Weber shook his head as she surveyed the small group gathered around the two headstones. _Such a shame_, he thought as he adjusted his collar. _Two young, beautiful souls… Such a shame_.

With a resoluteness that had sustained him through far too many turmoils, he strode to the front of the gathering, stopping when he stood behine both stone markers.

"Dearly beloved," he began, laying one hand on each stone. "We have gathered here today to praise God and to celebrate his welcoming of Mary Alice into His arms.

"W gather here at this particular site because, in celebrating the life of Mary Alice, one cannot help but also celebrate the life of Jasper Hale.

"No two souls were ever more in sync than those of Jasper and Mary Alice. But, as tragedy stole one from us, time felt it had to take the other.

"There is nothing more we can say except that I hope they have both found each other and in finding each other have found the peace they couldn't obtain while here with us on Earth."

Everything stilled as if the whole world had hit pause for just a moment.


End file.
